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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784290">Case #0450130 | Relativity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoloDove/pseuds/HoloDove'>HoloDove</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Statements of Jasper Rowe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Inspired by that one M.C. Escher painting, Intern Statement, Minor Character Death, Non-graphic death, Statement Fic, The Usher Foundation, the spiral (the magnus archives) - Freeform, you know the one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:41:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoloDove/pseuds/HoloDove</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Statement of Jasper Rowe, Artifact Conservator Intern for The Usher Foundation. Regarding an experience with an abandoned stairwell in her childhood apartment complex. </p><p>Statement given October 18th, 2014</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Statements of Jasper Rowe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Case #0450130 | Relativity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I made an oc to handle the hiatus and with no one to rp with, I've turned to writing statements for various events in her life. Of course to start with, I went with her earliest! I have a couple more written out that I'm sure I'll post eventually.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Up until I was about 13 years old I lived in a horribly small apartment. Just me and my mom in a one bedroom that looked like a closet. The complex was also snug tight between an abandoned deli and laundry mat, adding to the compact feeling. It was like living in a coffin. </p><p>I took lots of pictures when I was outside. I hung them up in my room in hopes it'd make my room feel a little less... Small. So I always carried a camera with me. I still do. But I've had to go back to film whenever I'm here.</p><p>A warning would have been nice by the way! I made that mistake once and it cost me a really good Canon. </p><p>I had some friends in the complex that were equally as miserable with the buildings enclosed space. There was nowhere to play- so us kids improvised. </p><p>I was 12 when we went down the old stairwell. It was hot outside, and drenching in sweat if you're out there longer than a few minutes. We got in the habit of playing on the stairs leading to the bottom foyer.</p><p>It's one of the only places where you could hold your arms out and it wouldn't touch the walls, so we'd spend hours jumping steps and watching things fall down them like slinkies or coins. </p><p>A couple times we used CDs. </p><p>Mom always said not to go on the old stairs, they weren't renovated with the rest of the building due to some structural instability and just chained it off to tenants. Safety hazard they said, whoever <em> they </em> are. But it must have been pretty shitty defenses considering a bunch of kids could bust in with a hammer and a little brute force.</p><p>Our naive childish wonder eventually tempted us and we broke into the stairwell. It was clearly not touched in years, paint peeling and a thick layer of dust on the rails of the stairs. The lights worked thankfully, or else I probably would have left.</p><p>I still don't like the dark.. </p><p>Anyway, the stairwell- It was, and I mean this in literal terms, <em> endless </em>. The building was only three, maybe four floors. We could drop a penny and only wait a couple seconds to hear it hit the floor.</p><p>But we looked down and it just... Kept going. Like one of those optical illusions. So I peaked my old film camera over the edge and took a couple photos.</p><p>We were kids. We didn't think about the logic of a longer staircase, so we would walk up and down the flights of stairs and eventually we decided on a race to the bottom. See how <em> endless </em> it really was.</p><p>I looked down again before we started. I had kept count, we were three flights down. Still no floor, nowhere close. But I agreed to the race because it was fun. I didn't know... </p><p>Okay. So I counted us off and we started bolting down the stairs. It could only fit maybe two of us shoulder to shoulder, so getting past and actually 'winning' wasn't likely. But at this rate I didn't want to win. I want to reach the bottom. See how far it went. I think it was the same case for the others, we all wanted an excuse to get to the bottom of the stairs.</p><p>I was middle, with Perri behind me and Austin in front. They lived in the complex with me, they were my best friends…</p><p> I was counting out loud, I didn't want to forget. And at some point Austin started counting with me. </p><p>
  <em> "4!... 5!... 6!..."  </em>
</p><p>And it kept going </p><p>
  <em>"10!... 11!... 12!..." </em>
</p><p>And going. </p><p>
  <em> "24!... 25!... 26!..." </em>
</p><p>Never at any point did we consider stopping or going back up. Something was pushing us to keep going. Keep running. Reach the bottom. </p><p>Austin is asthmatic, he couldn't go more than a few floors without having to stop and use his inhaler. But even though he just kept running, I could hear their wheezing after awhile. Each step was kicking up more dust, that couldn’t have been helping either.</p><p>One time, Austin said he could tell when he overworked his lungs because his mouth tasted like he sucked on a penny or his gums were bleeding. Very coppery, but they were never actually bleeding. </p><p>After 15 flights of stairs I start noticing small blood drips on the stairs in front of me. I didn’t ask. Austin didn't mention it, maybe he couldn't. But I took another photo.</p><p>At 40 flights of stairs, Austin collapsed from asthma. I wanted to turn around and check on him, but I just kept running. I couldn’t have looked back if I wanted to. Perri and I continued to call out the floor number like a mantra, the words being pulled from us as a sick reminder of what we were doing.</p><p>Where we were headed.</p><p>Where <em>were</em> we headed? </p><p>
  <em> "42!... 43!... 44!..."  </em>
</p><p>My lungs burned and my legs screamed with every step I took. Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to stop, turn around and go back. But I couldn't, I <em> had </em> to know what was at the bottom. If there even was one. </p><p>In the 60's I stopped hearing Perri running behind me. There was a heavy thud and then blood was pouring down the steps, following behind me and eventually covering the soles of my feet. It was so warm and I think I started crying. Maybe my eyes were burning from all the dust. But just like with Austin, I didn't turn around. Just kept running. </p><p>
  <em> "66!... 67!... 68!..."  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "83!... 84!... 85!..."  </em>
</p><p>I only remember reaching 130, but I never reached 131. Next thing I know I'm waking up in a hospital with almost every limb in casts and tubes up my nose. I found out it was six months from when I went in the stairwell. I was comatose through my birthday.</p><p>My mom was called in and she begged me to know what happened and where I had gone. With two cops behind her. I wasn't sure what to say... So I told them we were playing on the stairs of the abandoned stairwell, but everything else was fuzzy.</p><p>It wasn't entirely a lie. I had the feeling they wouldn’t have believed me if I told the truth. </p><p>Apparently- I was missing for a week. Austin and Perri were never found. They tore the stairwell up and down but never found them, didn’t even find blood. After the second flight of stairs, our dusty footprints were gone.</p><p>They found me when I walked out of the complex and got hit by a car. From a door that should have been bolted shut.</p><p>The impact broke over fourty bones in total, a broken rib punctured one of my kidneys and hitting the pavement split my skull open. Somehow, my camera was untouched aside from the strap breaking. </p><p>I still have the film but I refuse to develop it.</p><p>It was questionable whether or not I'd ever wake up. Even after healing I lost most feeling in my left leg and the fact I can still walk is a miracle. I have to use my cane, but it’s not that bad, it gives me another excuse to avoid the stairs.</p><p>I think about Austin and Perri all the time, too. I wonder if I had fallen, would one of them be waking up in the hospital and I’d be missing? Or sometimes I wonder how far away I was from the bottom, was I close?</p><p>The stairs offer, sometimes. Whispers of another journey through the endless winding staircase leading me somewhere or nowhere. No one else hears them, I know they’re calling to me. But I prefer the elevator anyway.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Statement Ends</p></blockquote></div></div>
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